His desperation must have been obvious, as she instantly divided the selection of carrots and potatoes on the countertop in two. They worked together in silence for a couple of minutes.
“You don’t have any problem calling me on my shit when I’m out of order.” Jackson cut the potato he’d just peeled into even chunks.
Leah smiled. “You’ve given me lots of practice.”
“My parents have a way of talking to people. I know they can be rude. You don’t have to just take it. They have no control over you staying here. You won’t offend me by standing up for yourself.”
She continued to slice and dice with the utmost concentration. “People-pleasing is a bad habit of mine.”
Jackson peeled another potato, taking in her words; the methodical task was soothing.
“We all find different ways to get by,” he said eventually. “My brother was the charmer in our family. He stuck up for me whenever I needed it. And he was so fucking funny, he got away with it every time. We functioned better as a family before we lost him.”
Leah laid down her knife but he didn’t look at her. He wondered why it was so easy to talk about Dom in her company when he rarely brought up his brother with anyone else.
“Some people are like that, aren’t they? They just make us our best selves.” Her voice was understanding. Jackson felt her eyes on the side of his face. “I don’t know why I find it easier to say what I mean to you. Maybe I’m my best self around you. Wouldn’t that be a plot twist?”
Her gentle joke hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said anything as generous to him in all his adult life. Jackson stared at the potato in his hand, trying to form a reply, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp tap on the back door.
“I’m throwing myself upon your mercy!” trilled Hazel, as she breezed into the kitchen and greeted them both with a hug. “My oven won’t turn on and I can’t reach the repairman until tomorrow. He’ll probably tell me it’s just an element and then charge me an arm and a leg even though he’s only ordered a replacement from Amazon anyway. I considered having cereal, but honestly—who wants cereal for Sunday dinner? And I knew Leah would take pity on me if I came begging.” She swept into the living room on the seaof words, her cut-glass British accent even more pronounced than usual. “Oh, well, goodness me! I had no idea you had company.”
Jackson considered how unlikely that was, in view of the fact she’d walked past both cars on the drive, and he wondered if it was possible for Hazel to underplay an entrance. Raising an eyebrow at Leah as they both trailed in Hazel’s wake, her guileless shrug confirmed his suspicion that she’d had a hand in this interruption—and he was grateful.
“Hazel, this is my mother and father, Celia and Alistair. And Niamh Stockwell, a family friend.” His voice rumbled in the sudden silence. “Mom, Dad—Hazel was one of Esther’s close friends.”
The air seemed to form a vacuum inside the room.
“Oh, we’ve already met. I’ve known your dad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.” Hazel stepped forward to grip one of his mother’s hands in hers. “My apologies for gatecrashing your family dinner—so terribly rude of me. But how fortunate to have this opportunity to get reacquainted.” The piercing gaze she directed toward Jackson’s father was a masterclass in unspoken communication.
Rather than Hazel’s company defusing the tension, now there were undercurrents Jackson couldn’t even get to grips with. The prospect of playing mediator in a game of blind man’s bluff had his shoulders creeping higher and higher.
It felt like an age before the pot pie was ready, but eventually Leah called everyone to the table. The food smelled delicious and there was a moment of promise before they began to eat when the visit seemed redeemable, but the reprieve was short-lived.
Leah had been overenthusiastic with the chili flakes. The pie filling was tongue-numbingly, eye-wateringly hot. His dad let out a strangled cough on his second mouthful; his mother and Niamh both instantly reached for their water glasses. Hazel’s right eyebrow quivered a fraction, but other than that miniscule tell, she ploughedgamely on, keeping the sticky chatter running smoothly at the same time with sheer force of will.
“I do love your skirt, Niamh. I always feel like I’ve been trampled by a pack of hyenas when I wear animal print, but it suits you perfectly. And your hair is fabulous. I had such a disastrous cut once when I was much younger, I had to wear a scoop-necked blouse to distract people until it grew out.” Hazel took a sip from her glass. Leah’s eyes met Jackson’s across the table.
“Niamh is always beautifully turned out. I don’t think she knows how to be scruffy.” His mother slid a cool glance in Leah’s direction as she reached for the water jug.
Jackson’s fingers tightened on his cutlery. Dressed a little more conservatively than normal, Leah wore clean blue jeans and a peach cropped tee. Over the top, she’d pulled on a sloppy cardigan in olive and white stripes. The fluffy yellow socks were a flamboyant, although not entirely unexpected, addition. Her style was growing on him. He liked that she dressed to please herself. Dragging his eyes away, Jackson concentrated on getting through the last few forkfuls of pie.
“Wouldn’t it be dull if there was no such thing as individuality?” Hazel tipped her head to one side.
His dad interrupted. “It doesn’t look as if anything’s been updated in this house for years. Your grandmother clearly let things slide. If you ask me, you should give up throwing good money after bad. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
“But you can sew sequins on it, add a cute little chain, and call it an evening bag.” Hazel’s tone was placid; her pale blue eyes were not.
“I’m taking the advice of the realtors, Dad. And using my own judgment, too. It’s worth making some changes if they add value and appeal to buyers.” Beneath the table, Jackson drummed restless fingers against his thigh.
“It’s a waste of your time. You need to prioritize your focus. Drop the price and someone will take this money pit off your hands.” Pushing his plate away and draining his glass, his father considered the conversation finished.
Jackson bristled. As if he had the option of dropping the price!
“I prioritized my focus when I left school at sixteen,” Hazel stated, twirling a piece of chicken on her fork. “My father thought I should take a secretarial course but I wanted more excitement than typing in triplicate. He said it was unbecoming for a female to go into the prison service.” Her eyes danced when they met Jackson’s. “Five years later, I was organizing arm-wrestling tournaments for inmate privileges and knew every way to weaponize a toothbrush. It was great fun. Soon after that, I moved to the US and the adventure continued. There’s more than one route to every destination.”
His father pretended she hadn’t spoken.
Only Jackson’s and Hazel’s plates were empty when everyone laid down their knives and forks.
